Nightmare House
by Michael Alan
Summary: A newlywed couple is experiencing strange occurences in their new home. When the O.S.I.R. investigates, they make a shocking discovery that the ghostly activity may be connected to a 50-year-old murder.


PSI Factor: Chronicles of the Paranormal ****

PSI Factor: Chronicles of the Paranormal

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"Nightmare House"

**Prologue**

Robert Dalton ran fast through the forest, his forehead beaded with sweat. Something--a faceless, hidden, deadly _something_--was stalking him. He knew he couldn't waste energy trying to see the something that was chasing him, but he couldn't help himself. He looked back over his shoulder, and that's when his foot snagged on a tree root. He toppled forward, landed face-up, and found himself looking straight up at--

His eyes snapped open, and he realized that he was awake, safe in his bed. His face was covered with sweat. He threw the sheets back and sat up, swinging his feet off the bed. He sat there for a moment with his face in his hands. He took a couple deep breaths and forced himself to relax, then got up and walked into the bathroom.

When he came down stairs a half-hour later, having showered and dress for his day at the office, he found his wife, Andrea, in the kitchen, washing the dishes. She was still dressed in her sleep shirt. "Morning," she said.

"Morning." He gave her a kiss as he walked across to the refrigerator, swinging the door open and pulling out a carton of orange juice.

"You've got that big meeting today, right?"

Robert took a glass from an overhead cabinet and filled it. "Yeah, unfortunately." He put the carton back and sat against the edge of the counter, drinking. "What do you got planned today?"

She dunked a plate in the soapy water and started scrubbing it. "Not much. No one needs a substitute teacher today, so I thought I'd just mill around the house and clean things up."

Robert nodded, took a drink. "We still on for dinner tomorrow night with Greg and Cathleen?"

"As far as I know. I'll call them while you're at work."

He took another drink, then set the empty glass in the sink. "One more to go through the ringer," he said. "I'll see you later."

He gave her a kiss. "Bye."

He left the kitchen, grabbing his briefcase from the living room, and closed the front door behind him.

After finishing the dishes, Andrea went back upstairs to the master bedroom. She turned on the water in the bathtub and let it warm up while she put on her bathrobe. She returned to the bedroom and took off her watch, lying it on top of the dresser. She was about to head back to the bathroom when she thought she heard something. She paused, listening.

She walked out into the hall and looked down the stairs, but saw nothing. She heard no more sounds, so she went back into the room. As she passed the bed, a hand reached out from underneath the bed and grabbed her right ankle.

She screamed out as something fought to pull her underneath the bed. She tried to break free, but lost her balance. She fell onto the floor hard. She tried kicking the hand away with her other foot, but a second hand grabbed it. She pushed her hands against the side of the bed, screaming for help. One of the hands loosened to adjust its grip, and she took the opportunity and pulled her leg free.

But her other ankle was still in its grasp. She reached toward the night stand and managed to grab a pen from beside the phone. She pulled the cap off with her teeth and jammed the ballpoint into the back of the hand. The fingers opened, and she pulled away from the bed, scrambling to her feet. The hand disappeared back under the bed.

She threw the pen to the floor and ran out of the room, her bare feet hitting the floor as she hurried down the stairs. She grabbed the phone in the living room and dialed quick. "Robert Dalton, please," she said when the other line was answered. "It's an emergency."

**Act 1**

Day 1, 16:08 Hours

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Case file 451-080; Case Manager Connor Doyle reporting. Initial log entry. We are en route to a small community of homes outside Salem, Massachusetts, to investigate a supposedly haunted house occupied by a newlywed couple. The wife claims she was attacked in her bedroom by a pair of hands that appeared from underneath the bed and attempted to drag her underneath. The couple also report that they have been hearing odd noises over the past two weeks.

The sky was overcast with dark storm clouds, and the ground was covered with puddles of rainwater. The convoy drove through the streets of the neighborhood. A green Suburban lead the line of vehicles down the street. It was followed by a second identical vehicle and three large semi-trucks.

As the convoy turned onto Pine Street, Prof. Connor Doyle, sitting in the passenger seat of the lead Suburban, scanned the surroundings. He spotted a large open field and put a hand to his ear, adjusting the headset. "Locate the mobile lab in the field and commence set up," he said into the tiny microphone.

The second Suburban and the trucks pulled off the street and into the open field. Four blocks down, the lead Suburban pulled up to the curb in front of 416 Pine Street. Connor and the rest of his team, Lindsay Donnor, Peter Axon, and Aton Hendricks, climbed out. He smelled rain in the air.

The house was a modest-sized two story design, set back off the street on a small but sufficient size piece of lawn. A car was parked in the driveway, in a position evident that the driver had come home in a hurry and didn't have time to worry about how they parked the car.

Connor turned to the others. "Peter, start an environment analysis. I want to rule out any chemical leaks or toxins that might have caused hallucinations."

"Sure thing," Peter said, and went to the back of the truck to grab his equipment.

"Anton, talk with the neighbors. See if you can turn up any sort of past events involving the Daltons. Domestic disturbances, anything."

"Right."

Lindsay picked up her bag, and her and Connor moved up the driveway to the walkway that curved around to the front porch. "Nice place," Lindsay commented.

They stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the door. Robert answered a few moments later. "Can I help you?"

"Hello, I'm Connor Doyle, this is Lindsay Donnor. We're investigators with the Office of Scientific Investigation and Research."

"Oh, right," Robert said, exchanging handshakes. "We've been expecting you. Come on in."

"Thank you." They stepped inside, and Robert shut the door behind them. "We'd like to speak with your wife, Mr. Dalton, while the memories of the event are still fresh in her mind," Connor said.

"Well, she's asleep right now. She was pretty shaken up by the event; she was crying really bad. It must have been horrifying."

"You weren't home?" Lindsay asked.

"I was at work. I had just gone into a meeting when I got the call from her."

Connor glanced around the living room. "What exactly did she say?"

"Just that something tried to pull her underneath the bed in our bedroom. I didn't hang around to hear anything else. I just got back here as soon as I could."

"You don't think it could've been a burglar or something?" Lindsay asked.

"You know, that's what I thought of at first, when I was driving over. But then I realized the space between the floor and the bed isn't big enough for someone to get underneath."

"Do you mind if we take a look around in your bedroom?"

Robert shook his head. "No, no problem. Go right ahead."

They headed for the stairs. "Your wife, is she--"

"Oh, no, she's in one of the spare rooms."

"Okay." Connor and Lindsay started up the steps.

"Make a left at the top. It's the first door you see."

"Thanks." When they reached the second floor, Connor nudged open the door to the master bedroom and stepped inside. The comforter on the bed was in disarray from Andrea grabbing at it during the struggle.

As Connor walked around the room, Lindsay sat the bag down on a chair and unzipped it, pulling out a small hand-held device. She activated it and started getting readings on the tiny green monitor.

Connor stood in the door to the bathroom and glanced it. Nothing out of the ordinary. He noticed the bathtub was half-full. He walked forward and put a finger in the water. He pulled it out quickly. "Ice cold," he said to himself. He was wiping his hand on a towel when her heard, "Connor."

He came back into the bedroom to see Lindsay kneeling near the foot of the bed, where the attack had occurred. "What is it?"

She shook her head. "Look at these readings."

He knelt beside her and took the device, holding it closer to the bed. He looked at the readings on the monitor, watching them climb as he lowered the unit toward the floor. The needle buried itself when the device was on the floor and just a few inches underneath the bed. "Buried the needle," he said. "There was definitely something here."

****

Day 1, 16:28 Hours

Connor and Lindsay stood before the video playback inside the mobile lab, watching Robert Dalton's videotaped statement. The image was blue-tinted, with the O.S.I.R. seal in the lower right-hand corner, and running timecode in the opposite corner. A small transparent box was briefly visible, reading: **Robert Dalton, Accounting Executive, Husband of subject**.

"I was so scared," he was saying. "When I got home she was curled up on the couch over there, crying. The way she described the event, I . . . it just freaked me out. Really freaked me out. It was something I never expected to hear. Especially when you live in a place that's known for having virtually no major criminal problems. You know? Um, I mean if she had said it was a burglar or something, at least that I could, you know, uh . . . understand. But this. This . . . this is just really, really creepy."

Connor stopped the tape. "I'm having Petersen and the others go over the entire room for more signs of psychokinetic residue. If there was enough to bury the needle on our device, they should pick up something."

"Connor, you in here?"

"Yeah." Connor took the chart as Peter came in and handed it to him. "What did you find?" he asked, glancing over the papers.

"Environmental analysis turned up nothing," Peter explained. "No chemical leaks of any kind, no toxins in the air or on the ground. I checked the woods behind the houses as well, but got the same results. Nothing. As far as I'm concerned, in regards to the environment around the house, the place is clean."

Connor signed off on the charts and handed them back, they headed toward the Round Table with them on either side. "Did you talk to her yet?" Peter asked.

Connor shook his head. "No. She was asleep. Her husband said she was shaken up pretty bad. He'll call us as soon as she wakes up."

They entered the room and took their seats at the table. "At this point--"

"Connor." Anton came into the room with some papers.

"What'd you find, Anton?"

Anton took a seat to Connor's right. "I just talked with Julie and Christopher Maynard. They're the Dalton's next door neighbors."

"And?"

"They have nothing but praise for the couple," Anton said. "According to them, Robert and Andrea have been the ideal next door neighbors. Quiet, friendly, no arguing whatsoever. Christopher said sometimes it seems like there's no one even living next door they're so quiet."

Connor leaned back in his chair, quietly thinking. "Anton, check out Robert and Andrea's pasts. See if they've ever claimed similar reports, and when if there were any. They've only been married for four months, but they've known each other nine years."

"I'll get on it," Anton said, and grabbed his file and left.

"Lindsay, see if you can dig up some history on the house. Maybe the place itself has something in it's past that might make a connection to this. Former occupant was killed there, anything."

"I'll let you know what I find," she said, and left.

Just as she left, Anton came back inside and said, "Connor, Mr. Dalton just called. She's awake."

Connor headed out of the room.

Andrea was sitting on the couch in the living room. A video camera was set up to record her statement, being manned by one of the O.S.I.R. technical crew. Anton sat beside the camera, handling the interview, after Connor decided to switch Anton and Peter's assignments. Peter was now looking into the Dalton's past. Connor stood a few feet away, watching the blue-tinted image of Andrea on a small monitor.

"I was getting ready to take a bath," she was saying. "I had just finished cleaning the dishes, and I went upstairs and started running the water. I came out because I thought I heard a noise downstairs."

"What kind of noise?" Anton asked.

She shook her head, shrugging. "I don't know. It's ones of those things were you know you heard something, but you don't exactly know what kind of noise it was. You know?"

Anton smiled, nodded. "Go on."

"Anyway, I heard this noise and stepped out into the hall. I looked downstairs and didn't see anything, so I figured it was just the house settling, and I went back into the room. As I was passing the bed, a . . . a hand reached out from under the bed and grabbed my ankle."

Hearing a beep, Connor looked at a second monitor, one that showed Andrea's vital signs. They were slightly elevated, but still well within the normal range.

"It started trying to pull my under the bed. I lost my balance and fell over, and it grabbed my other ankle. I struggled to get free and finally did, and . . . It, it was just horrible." She looked away from the camera, hiding her crying.

Anton turned his head and signaled for the camera to stop recording, then looked over at Connor.

A few minutes later, they were ready to leave. Anton and the technical crew were loading the last of the video equipment in the Suburban as Connor walked with Robert. "With your permission, Mr. Dalton," Connor said, "I'd like to have infra-red and night-vision surveillance cameras set up in and out of the house. To keep watch during the night."

"Sure, that's no problem."

"I'll be back with a team shortly to start setting them up."

As they reached the truck, Robert said, "Prof. Doyle, is my wife gonna be okay? I mean, is whatever happened gonna have any effects on her?"

Connor turned as he opened the front passenger door. "I assume she may have some nightmares about the event, but if you're asking about long-term effects, I can't really say anything yet."

"But you're gonna find out what's going on, right?"

Connor smiled reassuringly. "We still have more tests to run before we determine anything," he said, "but we'll do everything we're capable of to help. Is there anything you can tell us about the history of the house?"

Robert shook his head. "No. Sorry. We only moved in a few weeks ago, actually. In fact, we don't even know all the neighbors yet."

"That's okay. I've got one of my team checking into it." Connor could still pick up that he was worried about the situation. "Don't worry, Mr. Dalton. I'll keep you posted on any developments." With that he climbed into the truck, and the vehicle pulled away from the curb.

Peter was just climbing out of the Suburban when the other pulled into the field. He waited as Connor climbed out and walked over. "Did you find anything?"

They started walking toward the mobile lab. "Robert and Andrea Dalton moved here from Los Angeles four weeks ago," he explained. "Before they married, he was an accounting executive out there, and she worked at an advertising agency. They both come from perfect backgrounds, had strict parental upbringings, and both graduated at the top of their classes. Neither have had any mental or major medical problems in their past."

They climbed the steps. "Sounds like the perfect couple," Connor commented.

"I had the room checked for prints," Peter said as they entered the converted semi trailers, "but only Robert and Andrea's were found. What were the results of Petersen's PK scans?"

"Just slightly higher than the ones Lindsay and I picked up, so I think we can safely rule out burglary. At this time we have enough substantial evidence to continue forward with a full-on poltergeist investigation."

"Was Mrs. Dalton of any help?"

Connor paused to sign a sheet of paper handed to him by a woman, then continued. "As much as could be expected," he said. "She said she was upstairs in the master bedroom when she thought she heard something. She looked downstairs and didn't hear or see anything, went back into the room, and that's when the hands grabbed her."

They reached the glass door to the Round Table room and stopped. "Find out where Lindsay is and see if she needs a hand. I'm going back to the Dalton's to oversee setup of the surveillance system."

"Right." He left as Connor pushed the door open and stepped into the room. 

****

Day 1, 17:03 Hours

The Dalton's home was covered with black-suited O.S.I.R. technicians hooking up the nighttime surveillance system for the house. Each room was covered by an infra-red and a night-vision camera, as well as each door and every side of the house. Connor was standing in the driveway, listening to the reports over his headset mike of which systems had been hooked up and were now online. "Okay, good," he said after one such report.

Anton stood in the kitchen with Andrea, who was preparing dinner. "You must think I'm crazy," she said. "A ghost attacking me in my room?"

Anton smiled and shook his head. "I don't think you're crazy," he assured. "I think you saw something that terrified you and convinced you that your house is haunted."

"And I'm not crazy because of that?"

Again, he shook his head. "No. No, you're not crazy because of that. In fact, sometimes I think it's the people who see things who are the normal ones. A lot of us are so wrapped up in ourselves, and everything is so 'me, me, me,' that it's impossible for us to see what's going on around us."

"So, you think I might have some kind of gift?" she asked, getting some plates from the cabinet.

"I don't know if it's a gift you have, but I think you definitely saw something."

"Well, I know one thing. I wish I hadn't."

Connor walked up the driveway into the garage, where Robert was busy unpacking boxes of garage supplies. "I hate moving," he said. "When I moved after graduating college I swore I'd never move again."

Connor smiled. "We should be done in another fifteen minutes or so, then we'll get you and your wife wired for the night."

Robert nodded and said, "Okay," as he took some tools from the box and began hanging them on the pegboard above the workbench. A screwdriver fell from his hand and rolled off the table to the floor, disappearing underneath a tall wooden cabinet. "Ah, dammit," he complained, setting the others down.

He grabbed a flashlight and looked under the cabinet. There was only a two inch space between the bottom of it and floor. He spotted the screwdriver back against the wall. That's when he noticed--"What the hell?"

Connor turned around. "What is it?"

Robert looked up. "There's a door behind this cabinet," he said, standing.

"You didn't know about it?"

Robert turned the flashlight off and set it down, shaking his head. "Cabinet was here when we moved in. Previous owners must have left it." The cabinet was solid oak and covered the wall nearly fall to ceiling. "Give me a hand moving it out."

Connor walked over and helped, struggling to move the large piece of heavy wood. They stopped to adjust their grip and redouble their efforts, and tried again. When they had the cabinet out far enough, they stopped and stood back. The doorknob was missing, and the paint on the door was cracked and chipped.

Connor checked the hole where the knob had been for spiders, then put his finger into it and tried to open it. It was stuck. He tried again, but it was no use. "Do you have a crowbar?"

Robert grabbed one from a shelf and stood out of the way. Connor jammed it between the door and the frame and applied pressure. Moments later, the door popped lose and swung open, causing Connor to nearly lose his balance. He steadied himself and handed the crowbar back.

He took the flashlight from the workbench and thumbed the switch. He waved the dust from in front of his face and aimed the light in. It was a small closet, with a single shelf near the top. He stepped forward as he trained the light down into the corner . . .

. . . and stopped.

"Oh my God," he said.

"What?" Robert asked, coming over. "What is it?" He looked in, and what he saw made him gasp.

In the corner of the closet was slumped a human skeleton.

**Act 2**

Day 1, 18:09 Hours

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Case log update. The shocking discovery of a body inside the subjects' garage has added more questions to our investigation. At this time, it cannot be determined if the body is connected to the paranormal activity reported at the location. The local police have been informed of the finding, and we're doing our best to correlate our efforts to assist one another.

The sky was dark, the clouds blanketing the sky. The local forecast was predicting heavy rain to start within the next couple of hours.

The place was full of cops, a few detectives, and some photographers. They were huddled mostly in the garage, with the center of their attention being the previously hidden closet. Anton had gone with the body back to the coroner's office to examine it. Connor found Det. John Scott standing out in the driveway, leaning back against his car and scribbling into a notepad. "Det. Scott."

The man looked up. "Ah, Prof. Doyle," he said, turning back to his notes. "What can I do for you?"

"Did you manage to find anything out about the body?"

"As a matter of fact we did. Fortunately, there was a wallet in the pant's pockets. Guy's name was Peter Davis. Died around 1946."

The word obviously took Connor by surprised. "1946? He's been in there for fifty years?"

"Strangely enough, yes. You see, fifty years ago, there were a couple of tough-ass guys named James Michaels and Peter Davis. They were a pretty rough pair; terrorized most of Boston."

"Gangsters?"

Det. Scott made a gesture with his head that was half-shake/half-nod. "More like independent gangsters," he said. "Loyal to the gangs more than the authorities, but their allegiance was to no one but themselves. Anyway, everybody wanted to see them get it, but the police could just never get them on anything.

"Anyway, in 1946, Michaels and Davis were suspected of murdering a young man who had witnessed them execute a guy. They were both tried for murder, but in the end, their guilt couldn't be proven and they got off. It's another case of everybody knows they're guilty, but you just can't nail them to it.

"So, around Fall of 1946 or so, Davis disappeared and was never found. At least, not until now."

"And Mr. . . . Michaels, was it?"

Scott nodded. "Michaels up and left the city, quite possibly the state. He figured if someone had gotten Davis, he was next and didn't want to take any chances."

"But why was Mr. Davis's body placed inside this house?" Connor asked. "Did he ever live here?"

"I don't believe so. You'll have to check into that."

"I already had one of my team looking into the house's history. Hopefully, we'll turn up something."

"Det. Scott," a young officer said, coming out of the garage.

"Yes? What is it?"

"They're all just about done in there."

"Okay. Excuse me," he said to Connor, and walked back up the driveway.

Forty minutes later, the last police officer left, and the last of the surveillance units were set up. Andrea and Robert were sitting on the couch in the living room as O.S.I.R. medical personnel finished fixing them up with wires to register their vital signs.

"We'll be monitoring both of you throughout the night," Connor said, "looking for any out-of-the-ordinary changes in your vital signs. And we'll be monitoring any and all activity in and around your home. Just go about your business for the rest of the evening."

"Thank you, Mr. Doyle," Robert said, holding his hand up.

Connor shook it, but instead said, "Thank me when we've solved this."

As he left, Robert looked at his wife and reassuringly put a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be alright."

****

Day 1, 22:38 Hours

The rain had been pouring in drenching sheets for two hours straight, with no signs of it letting up. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Inside the mobile lab, Connor stood before the surveillance unit monitors. Two screens were devoted to the infra-red systems, the other two to the night-vision units, and each of them alternated between several cameras. A fifth monitor stayed on the master bedroom, showing him a night-vision image of the Daltons, sound asleep in bed. Another screen showed their vital signs were normal.

"Connor, it's Peter," a voice said into his ear.

"Go ahead."

"Lindsay and I found some interesting information."

"Where are you?"

"We're on our way. We're just pulling out of the library parking lot."

"Okay. I'm back at the lab."

"We'll see you in about twenty minutes."

"I hate the rain," Peter complained as he drove down the street.

"Oh, now, come on, Peter," Lindsay said with a smile. "A little rain never hurt anybody."

"Yeah, but a lot can drive you crazy." He pulled into the field and parked near the lab, turned off the ignition. He reached into the backseat and felt around. "And, of course, the umbrella's not here."

"Just have to run for it," she said, and was out of the truck and heading for the lab before he knew it.

Peter had to laugh. "She is just too free-spirited," he said, then kicked the door open and jumped out. He pulled his jacket up over his head as he hurried through the rain, almost slipping as he went up the medal steps. He stopped and shook the rain from his jacket as he came into the entrance foyer. "Why did it have to start raining on this case?" He started taking his coat off.

Connor and Lindsay were sitting at the Round Table, warming themselves with cups of coffee. "I can't tell who's more scared by the events," Connor said. "Mr. Dalton or his wife." He took a drink.

"The body had been there for fifty years?"

Connor nodded. "At least. Anton's with the coroner right now examining the body."

The door opened, and Peter came in with a briefcase and his own cup of coffee. "Man, it's wet out there. And it can't wait to start pouring after I get inside."

Connor and Lindsay looked at each other and smiled. "So what's this interesting information you guys found?" Connor said.

"Okay." Peter sat down across from Lindsay and took a folder from his briefcase, opened it, and began flipping through the pages. "The house was built around the mid-30s, and there's been no previous reports of any kind of paranormal activity or ghost sightings. Nothing. But then we found out something really intriguing."

Connor took another drink, listening intently.

"From 1938 until his death in 1956, the house was occupied by Paul Johnson. No one special, just a regular Everyday Joe. But he had a nephew named Tim Johnson."

"Who is he?"

Lindsay said, "Turns out that Tim Johnson was the young man supposedly killed by Peter Davis and James Michaels."

"According to a report filed by a witness," Peter said, "the night before Davis was reported missing, she said she saw two men struggling with each other as they walked toward the house. She identified the one as Mr. Johnson, and while she wasn't too sure who the second one was, she thought he resembled Davis."

"We think," Lindsay said, "that it might have been a case of revenge. Tim was practically raised by his uncle after his father died. And in court, when the verdict was read, Paul starting shouting at the two men, saying he would see them fry for what they did to his nephew."

"Somehow," Peter said, "I think, Johnson managed to kidnap Davis, brought him back to his house, and killed him, then stashed the body in the garage."

"The same report," Lindsay said, "revealed that neighbors complained of a strong stench coming from the house for a long time. My guess, they were smelling Davis' body decomposing."

Connor grimaced at the thought. "Gross, hu?" Peter said.

"Okay," Connor said, "but how does this tie in with the events reported by the Daltons?"

"This is were it gets really interesting. We found an old photograph of the two men. Check this out." He took a sheet of paper from the folder and slid it across to Connor. "That's Davis on the right."

It was a photocopy of the actual picture, with the two men standing together near a shed, Michaels resting his arm on Davis's shoulder. And Michaels had more than a passing resemblance to Robert Dalton.

"Is this James Michaels?" Connor asked.

Peter nodded. "Striking resemblance, hu?"

Connor handed the photo back. "Okay. What's your theory?"

Peter sighed. "Well, I'd say that this ghost might actually be the spirit of Paul Johnson. I mean, we all know that, according to wild-spread speculation, ghosts exist because they need to complete something they didn't have the chance to finish in life, before passing on to the 'other side' or wherever it is."

"So if that's the case," Connor wondered aloud, "then Paul Johnson's ghost is here because he got killed Davis but not Michaels, and it thinks Robert Dalton _is_ James Michaels."

Lindsay nodded. "That's what it appears to be. The question is, how do we get rid of it?"

Connor nodded knowingly. Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and Anton hurried in. "Connor. Look at this." He handed the Case Manager a large, clear plastic bag, with a piece of old, discolored paper inside. "We found this on the body down at the coroner's."

Connor's eyes widened as he looked at it. "Connor?" Lindsay asked. "What is it?"

Connor looked at Peter. "Looks like you're theory was right, Peter." He laid the bag on the table and left the room.

Peter looked at it. "Oh my God," he said. On the paper inside, scribbled in black ink, was the message, "I will get revenge for my nephew."

Connor hurried through the mobile lab to the surveillance monitors. The screens showed nothing as the cameras alternated locations inside and outside of the house. The master bedroom camera revealed the Daltons still asleep. Vital signs for Andrea were normal, but Robert's were a little too elevated for Connor's liking.

"What's going on?" Peter asked.

Connor's fingers flew over the keyboard, then his right hand gripped a small control stick. With one hand on the controller and the other on the keyboard, he zoomed it on Robert. When he was close enough, he could see his eyelids moving as his eyes rolled all over. Robert was in a deep sleep.

"Nothing. Just R.E.M." Connor hit a single key, and the camera returned to its previous position.

"Look," Peter shouted, pointing at the monitors.

Connor turned back. "What?"

Peter was looking from monitor to monitor. "You didn't see it? Monitor Two. I thought I saw something."

They looked at the screens, watching as the image switched every six seconds. "There," Peter said, pointing. "Monitor Three."

Connor looked, but shook his head. "I don't see anything--Wait." He pointed at monitor one. "There."

They all looked at the screen just in time to see a blurry, barely-registering infra-red image move out of frame. Connor checked the master bedroom monitor, but Robert and Andrea were both still asleep. A beeping drew their attention to Robert's vital signs, which were beginning to skyrocket. Suddenly, the screen covering the master bedroom filled with static.

"What hell . . .?" Peter gave the monitor a slap.

That's when they heard Andrea suddenly scream out over the speaker. Connor looked at the others. "Come on," he said, and they followed him out.

They came down out of the mobile lab and ran through the rain to the Suburban. Peter and Connor climbed into the front, Lindsay and Anton in the back. Peter fired up the ignition, put the truck in gear, and hit the gas.

Within moments, the vehicle was screeching into the driveway. Connor was out and running before the truck had even stopped. The others hurried to catch up as he ran up the walkway and onto the porch. He threw his shoulder into the door, but it didn't budge. "Peter," he called.

Peter came up onto the porch. "One," Connor said, "two, three." They threw themselves against the door. "Again." Slam!

"Again." _Slam!_

"Again!" Their forth blow knocked the door open, and they heard Andrea screaming as they charged into the house with flashlights on.

They raced up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Robert was gone, but Andrea was sitting up against the headboard, still screaming, clutching the bed sheets tight in front of her. Lindsay ran over to her. "It's okay, it's okay," she said, putting her arm around her. Andrea grabbed hold of her and cried into her shoulder.

Peter shined his flashlight at the device in his hand. "Oh man. Connor, this place is swamped with psychokinetic energy. It's like somebody just threw buckets of it everywhere."

Connor came over to the bed as Andrea's cries began to quiet. "Where's Robert?" he asked.

She looked up, tears streaming down her face. "I don't know," she said. "That, that . . . that _thing_ showed up again. But it wasn't coming for me. He started going for Robert. It started choking him, then it threw him over there." She pointed.

Connor looked and saw a mess of laundry on the floor, where the basket and other items had been knocked off of a desk.

"It looked back at me after it threw him," she continued, "and Robert said he would lead it away from me. He ran out of the room, and the thing just . . . it just, went right through the wall after him. Oh God."

She started crying again. Lindsay comforted her. "Don't worry. It's okay. You're okay now." She looked up at Connor.

"Take her back to the lab with Anton," he said. "This may put her into shock."

Lindsay nodded.

Connor walked over to Peter, who was still scanning the room with his hand-held PK monitor. "This is unbelievable, Connor," he said, starring at the screen. "I've never seen so much psychokinetic residue."

"We have to look for Robert. That thing might be attacking him."

They hurried out of the room. As they came down the stairs, Connor happened to see through the kitchen, and noticed the back door was open, gently moving in the breeze. They stepped out onto the back porch. Connor looked down at the mud at the base of the steps and pointed. "Look." They could see footprints, leading away from the house and into the woods.

They heard a scream, far off within the trees. "Come on." They ran down the steps and raced into the woods.

Robert was running fast through the forest, feet splashing in puddles, sweat beading his forehead. The rain slashed down around him. His clothes were soaked. He glanced over his shoulder and saw it coming after him. He screamed and ran faster. "Oh God. Oh God. 

Oh God."

Connor and Peter moved through the forest, flashlight beams bouncing around like searchlights. "Robert!" Connor shouted. "Robert! Where are you?"

Peter was doing his best to run, read the PK monitor, and not fall all at the same time. "We're on the right trail," he said between pants. "This thing's leaving a PK trail like breadcrumbs."

They stopped near a large fallen tree and looked in all directions, flashlights pointing everywhere. Connor put a hand to his mouth and hollered, "Robert, were are you!?" In response was a scream off to their left, and they continued running through the rain.

Robert was out of breath, but forced himself to keep running. His hair was plastered to his head from the rain. He ran through shallow puddles, splashing water up onto his legs. He glanced back over his shoulder, and that's when his foot snagged a tree root. He toppled forward and landed face-up, looking right up at the thing.

"Oh no. God, no. Please." He started crawling backwards through the mud. "Please, no."

Connor and Peter came charging around a large tree and stopped dead in their tracks. They both stared in amazement. "My God," Connor said.

The apparition was floating at least four feet off the ground. It resembled a person in terms of the shape of its body, but it didn't move like a man. It was more fluid in motion, and it seemed to float gently in the air, like it was floating in a pool of water.

As they approached it, it must have sensed them, because it slowly turned to look at them. They saw it's face. "That's him," Peter whispered behind Connor. "That's Paul Johnson. I saw a picture of him."

Connor stepped forward cautiously. "Paul? Paul Johnson?" The apparition turned it's head slightly, almost as if it was listening. "We know what you did. We know that you killed one of the men who murdered your nephew. But we also know that the other man died years ago."

As if to indicate he was trying to say, "Then who's this?" the apparition turned and looked back at Robert, still on the ground.

"That's not the other man," Connor said. The ghost turned back and watched him. "He looks like the other man. The other man who killed your nephew, James Michaels? He died years ago." Connor pointed at Robert. "This is not him."

The ghost seemed to just look right at him, as if trying to comprehend the words he was hearing. Peter and Robert both watched in fear and anticipation.

Connor took a few more steps closer. "Killing him will not do anything. The real men who killed your nephew are already dead. Leave these people alone. They have nothing against you, and you have no reason to harm them."

The apparition continued to look at him for a moment longer, then something extraordinary happened. There was low humming sound, almost like a throbbing, and a strong wind began to pick up. Robert managed to get to his feet and steadied himself against a tree trunk. The wind rustled their clothes, stirring up dried leaves and twigs. Connor almost lost his balance, but Peter put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. There was a bright flash of light in the sky, and they all looked up.

A hole was forming in the air, expanding wider and wider as what resembled a tunnel seemed to extended itself from out of nowhere. The opening was at least eight feet wide and ten feet tall. The interior of the tunnel looked like the whitest of clouds against the bluest of skies, swirling around as if caught in a mild storm.

The apparition levitated toward the entrance. It took one last look at them all, then floated backwards and up into it. It kept moving further up, looking at them, getting smaller and smaller as it disappeared into the tunnel. Then the entrance began to shrink as the tunnel spun, pulling itself back up into the sky. In a moment it was gone, vanishing in a final flash of light. The throbbing noise stopped, and the winds died down.

Peter was still staring into the sky as Connor hurried over to Robert, who was slumping against the tree. The rain was still falling in heavy sheets. "Robert," Connor said. "Are you okay?"

Robert lifted his head and looked at him. "I hate it when it rains," he said.

Connor smiled. "Peter, give me a hand." Peter pocketed his PK monitor and came over. They put Robert's arm around their shoulders and headed back to the house.

The next morning, Connor and his team were packed and ready to go. The sky was still overcast, but the storm from the night before had reduced to a mild drizzle. The mobile lab had already been broken down and was on its way back to central headquarters. Peter and Anton were waiting in the Suburban while Connor and Lindsay talked with the Daltons at the front door.

"I can't thank you enough, Prof. Doyle," Robert said. "You've really helped us out here."

"You're welcome, Mr. Dalton."

Lindsay said, "I think it's safe to assume that your house is now spirit-free."

"What about my dreams, Prof. Doyle?" Robert asked. "I mean, for almost a week I was dreaming about exactly what happened out there in the woods last night."

Connor nodded. "It's called precognition, when someone sees something before it happens. A lot of times it's turned out to be only a temporary, one-time thing. But if you'd like to explore it further, I could leave you with a name and number for--"

Robert held up his hands with a smile, laughing. "Uh, no thanks. That's, that's alright. I think we're going to be just fine." He put an arm around Andrea. "Thanks again. For everything."

"You're welcome, Mr. Dalton." They shook hands and said goodbye, then headed for the waiting truck.

_Final log entry. After extensive investigation, it was revealed that Mr. Dalton featured a striking resemblance to a notorious gangster from the 1940s named James Michaels. Michaels and his associate, John Davis, where targeted for revenge by Paul Johnson, the uncle of a young man they had killed. The spirit haunting the Dalton's home was that of Johnson himself, who believed Mr. Dalton was Michaels, the second gangster he was looking for, and was attempting to complete his revenge and murder him. After learning that Robert Dalton was not the man he wanted, Johnson's spirit entered what could best be speculated was the gateway to the netherworld. No further claims of paranormal activity at the house have been reported. Connor Doyle out._


End file.
